


What Everybody Knows (the Suitcase remix)

by red_crate



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Flashbacks, Getting Together, M/M, Oblivious Claude, Scent Marking, Trouble with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-13 13:14:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10514487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/pseuds/red_crate
Summary: “Do the guys think Danny and I are together?”Surely, this has all been some bizarre joke everyone is playing on Claude.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Noxnoctisanima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noxnoctisanima/gifts).
  * Inspired by [What Everybody Knows](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5494040) by [Noxnoctisanima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noxnoctisanima/pseuds/Noxnoctisanima). 



> I loved the idea of everyone just _knowing_ Claude and Danny are together. My friend, K, asked me, "what if they were werewolves too?"
> 
> This is my first ever attempt at doing a remix. I hope I did it right, and that the original fic's author enjoys this! I had a lot of fun with the Hockey Kamikaze Remix Challenge!

He's had the thought, probably a thousand times before, and he knows he's drunkly accused rooms and cars full of teammates several times in the past—usually when he's just been made the fool. Still, Claude finds himself muttering, “ _ werewolves _ .” It's a single word, pregnant with meaning and implication. As with most previous times, Claude is some combination of fond and completely, absolutely fed  _ up _ .

 

Werewolves. 

 

Brayden is chewing on a pilfered green pepper slice like he didn't just spout the oddest thing not five seconds ago. His heels bang against the cabinet because he's perched on Claude’s kitchen counter, waiting to be fed a meal he invited himself to expect. When Brayden just smiles around his mouthful, Claude sighs. 

 

“Why would the kids be here, if Danny isn't?” He stamps down on the bitterness that still spears him for some nebulous reason when he thinks about Danny’s trade. He slices the last of the onion in sharp, hard movements before tilting the cutting board, and scraping the vegetables into the wok. The oil hisses.

 

There's a pitying look on Brayden’s face, but it disappears when he realizes Claude is looking at him. “The ex isn't giving you guys a hard time, right? She seemed pretty chill about you and Danny last time she dropped the kids off when I was here.” He shifts around, leaning towards Claude a little bit more, like he's trying to check how Claude’s emotions smell. 

 

Smacking Brayden in the shoulder with the hand holding his spatula, Claude reflexively snipes, “ _ quit it _ . What do you mean, 'me and Danny?’ Why would Sylvie have a problem with us?” 

 

“I thought she  _ didn't _ .” Brayden shakes his head before sliding off the counter and, apparently, has decided that's an adequate close to the subject. He grabs a beer out of the fridge on his way out and tells Claude to let him know when the food is ready. 

 

Claude mulls their interaction over while he makes sauteed chicken and vegetables to go over the brown rice cooking on his stove. Brayden, showing up unannounced, is lucky Claude is still in the habit of accidentally making too much food for a single person.

 

_ Werewolves _ . 

 

* * *

 

 

Danny had hired help, like most guys in the NHL, to do everything from cleaning, to cooking, to gardening when Claude accepted the offer to move into his spare room. To be honest, that aspect wasn't really any different from being in a hotel where everything was kept up by employees who were good at being discreet. So Claude was kind of messy and he never thought about the neatness of the box hedges marking the property line. 

 

Even with the middle-aged woman who came every Sunday afternoon, who took three trips to and from her van to bring everything inside—even with a professional cook stocking prepared meals to be heated in the oven, they usually ran out of food between the five of them, by Thursday. Truthfully, it wasn't always that the meals were eaten by then, but more than that there was usually a kid who suddenly decided he didn't like any kind of casserole. Sometimes, it was a kid taking a moral stand against the treatment of livestock and refusing to eat meat...for a grand total of eighty-three hours, until he smelled his brother's chicken wings. Other times, the carefully prepared food—the food that fit neatly into Danny and Claude's nutrition plans—just lost any appeal because it felt like variation of the same four meals. 

 

They had take-out in spurts. Danny scrambled eggs and burned toast. Cereal was a favorite among the boys in lieu of the things their dad made when all that was left of the prepared meals were soggy vegetables and fish. 

 

Claude usually made his own food, despite Danny telling him he was more than welcome to join them for meals. But cooking in the kitchen attracted everyone else in the house. Danny might be on his laptop at the kitchen bar, replying to emails or reading out something to Claude he found interesting in an article. The smells of food cooking invariably brought at least one, if not all three boys, along when they were home. Someone was always hungry. It was easier to just toss in more to whatever he making, than deal with the big eyes and rumbling stomachs.

 

That's how it happened. In the way that sneaks up on a person—Claude, who was never a particularly impressive cook, found himself taking stock of the pantry, making lists, remembering which foods which boys favored, and forcing Danny to shop with him every few days. He scrawled a menu onto the dry erase board on the refrigerator, squeezing it next to reminders about doctor visits, full moons, lacrosse practice, and special dates Sylvie would be taking the boys on vacation. One day he realized the middle-aged woman with the big red van had stopped making her weekly visits to drop off mountains of casserole dishes and bowls of fruit salad. By that point, Claude shrugged off the thought, and let Danny crowd him to steal a half cooked mushroom from the pan. It felt natural. 

 

* * *

 

Claude lasts a few more days before he goes to Simmer to get a bead on the situation. Having sympathetic looks thrown his way when he looks up from his phone at a team dinner, being told to keep his chin up, and all the other weird shit that's been going on lately has Claude going crazy. He needs to know what the hell everyone is getting at because...because it seems as if they think he's in a relationship with Danny. 

 

He follows Simmer to his car after practice, shooting the shit for long enough that almost everyone has left. When the conversation hits a lull, Claude finally asks the question that makes him feel dumb. “Do the guys think Danny and I are together?” He looks down at the strap of his gear bag, where it's stretched across his chest, because he isn't sure he can look Simmer in the eye right now and see the mirth that must be there.

 

Surely, this has all been some bizarre joke everyone is playing on Claude. It isn't funny. It's weird. And annoying. But he can trust Simmer to tell him what's going on now that Claude has asked him outright. 

 

Simmer's hand is warm when it squeezes Claude's arm. “We’ve got your back, man. We told the new guys so they wouldn't say the wrong thing. It sucks, what happened with Danny getting traded, and you don't need these kids asking dumb questions about your scent.” 

 

Claude has no fucking clue what to say, because this isn't what he was expecting. While he's processing the fact that there's something about his scent that makes people assume things about him, Simmer gives him a bro hug and tells him to take care. He's slipped into his car and put on his seatbelt before Claude even opens his mouth to mumble a belated, “later.” 

 

* * *

 

In Germany, Claude had his own apartment, but it was close to Danny’s. By that point, he'd moved out of the house in Haddonfield but this was a lockout. The proximity of living in Germany, the fact that the boys were staying with Danny the whole time, made it easy for Claude to find himself tagging along more often than not when Danny or the boys invited him. It was a short-lived pocket of time when playing for another league was important but free of the pressures of the NHL.

 

There were times he forgot Danny was a werewolf. 

 

Claude got hit high and everything  _ hurt _ . A neck injury that could have been so much worse, but was pretty fucking bad if you asked Claude. He was in Germany for two days before Brisson had him flying, carefully and with a nurse, back to the states to get checked out at home. 

 

Danny wolfed out a little when Claude went down. Someone told Claude to make him smile, distract him from the pain he was in while they did concussion tests in the locker room, waiting on an ambulance to get there so he could be carted off to the hospital for better testing. He had closed his eyes and tried picturing Danny with his golden wolf eyes, fangs making his mouth look weird, and the fur that sprouted along his cheeks and forehead. It was funny to imagine until Claude remembered the rules about shifting on the ice, how he could be suspended, and what if he had tried fighting the guy who hit Claude like that? 

 

Later, the drugs made Claude's mind sluggish but numbed the pain. Later, he felt a too-warm hand on his cheek brushing down to feather over the side of his neck, along the strip of skin not covered by the collar put in place to keep him from accidentally hurting himself. He opened his eyes to see Danny's worried ones, tinged yellow-gold, looking back at him. 

 

“You smell like the hospital.” Danny sounded petulant and kept stroking Claude's cheek, brushing the hair back, touching. He cleared his throat and stated, “you're going to be okay.” 

 

It wasn't fair to say that, not when all the results hadn't come back and not before a specialist got ahold of him. But Claude had appreciated it; would have said the same thing to Danny with the same determined tone if the roles were reversed. When Danny's fingers threaded through the hair at his temple, Claude leaned into it just to see some of the tension ease from his shoulders. 

 

Claude's mouth was dry and it took longer than he wanted, but he asked, “where are the boys?” His eyes had slid back shut because whatever medicine was dripping into him made him sleepy. 

 

Danny's thumb swiped along Claude's brow. His voice was lighter when he spoke next. “Home. They're supposed to be in bed, but Carson already called a couple times.” 

 

“'Glad someone likes me,” the words slurred on Claude's tongue. He smiled, eyes still shut. Sleep was claiming him again. 

 

Danny stayed quiet, his fingers consistent and soothing, the last thing Claude felt.

 

* * *

 

Back in his own car, Claude calls Danny without bothering to wait for the Bluetooth to connect. As soon as Danny greets him, he's blurting, “the whole team thinks we're together.” He sucks in a breath and holds it, waiting for Danny to freak out. 

 

“Okay,” Danny doesn't, in fact, sound like he's surprised or confused, “thanks for the update on team gossip. It's so nice to hear from you.” He sounds calm, if slightly amused. Bastard. 

 

Claude decides Danny must need clarification. “The. Team. Thinks. We. Are. Dating.” There, surely Danny is going to join him in finding the whole notion bat crap crazy. 

 

His heart is beating rabbit fast, and he wonders vaguely if Danny can hear it through the phone. Claude chews at his bottom lip, waiting for a reply. 

 

“I assumed that's what you meant.” Danny pauses before saying, “you're upset about it.” 

 

Claude wants to hit his head against the steering wheel because  _ duh _ , but he can't really afford taking the chance. Instead, he splutters, “Yes! It isn't true, but everyone is acting like it is! Doesn't it upset you?” 

 

Danny sounds long-suffering when he says, “Claude, I've got a lot more to be upset about than people discussing my love life.” He sighs. “Look, I'm heading out, so I can't talk right now.” 

 

“Sorry—” Claude tries to apologise but Danny cuts him off.

 

“You need to figure out what bothers you the most. Is it that people are talking about who you're sleeping with? Or is it because of  _ who  _ people are saying you're sleeping with? His voice sounds hard, business-like—the way it is when he doesn't want any argument. 

 

Claude doesn't know what to say. 

 

Danny doesn't give him a chance to reply anyway. “I really do need to get off here. Call me when you've figured out what's bothering you.” 

 

The line goes dead and Claude sits in the empty parking lot for another five minutes, trying to parse what Danny has asked of him. 

 

* * *

 

Alcohol didn't affect werewolves, and Claude thought it was tragic. Some of them drank anyway, for the taste or the social aspect. Others didn't bother and either chose to drink something else when the team went out or opted out of the bar scene altogether. 

 

Claude drained the last of his beer, and scanned the crowd for anyone who peaked his interest. There was a short but sturdy looking guy in a v-neck by the booths who could be worth the work. Then, Claude caught the eye of a smiling woman who was staring straight at him. No work and just as pretty. 

 

“This place reeks. You reek.” Danny slid into the seat next to Claude, laughing a bit when he received a glare. “Ugh, fine. Go chase tail.” He rolls his eyes, mouth dipping down on one side. He was acting weird. 

 

“Werewolves are weird,” Claude leaned towards Danny, willing to pause his trip to see if that woman in the dark green dress might be open to some quality alone time with him. “It's really fucking weird how you go around just smelling shit about people.” 

 

It was an old complaint, but if Danny was going to chirp him using his werewolf abilities, Claude was going to give him a little hell. 

 

“It hardly takes a higher sense of smell to figure out you're horny.” Danny's eyes danced with amusement. “You aren't much of an enigma, Claude.” 

 

Squinting at him, a little more annoyed than he should be, Claude tapped Danny on the chest. “You're too sober to be at a bar. I feel sorry for you.” 

 

Danny caught his finger, holding it tightly. He pulled Claude closer and spoke quietly. His eyes didn't look quite normal, caught somewhere between brown and gold. “Go get your dick sucked, Claude.” 

 

It was only a moment, but it felt like it lasted longer with how weirdly intense it struck him. Claude's neck heated and he absentmindedly licked his lips, letting Danny carefully nudge him out of his personal space with the grip he still had on his hand. 

 

Claude ended up in a bathroom stall with the woman in a dark green dress. Halfway through getting off, he pictured Danny's eyes and the fire they held. 

 

* * *

 

Brayden looks pained when he asks, “have you tried Skype sex?” At least he winces as soon as the words are out of his mouth. There's also the whole length of the couch between them to act as a buffer. 

 

Claude considers lunging across the empty space anyway, even though punching a werewolf would hurt him more than Brayden. He gives his best death stare before demanding, “what.” 

 

“I'm just saying, bro. You've been extra fucking bitchy lately, and I sorta figured it's because you're solo these days.” Brayden sounds less confident under the intensity of Claude's glare. He continues digging his own grave though, ever the headstrong idiot that he is. “You know, with Danny in Colorado and you...here.” He swallows, shrugs. “Just trying to help out.” 

 

Claude cannot believe they're even having this conversation. He runs a hand over his face, lets out a frustrated sigh. “I'm not talking about this with you.” 

 

That actually seems to relieve Brayden, because he brightens a little. “I tried though, right?” He smiles to himself, and when he catches the irritated look Claude shoots him, clarifies, “I was volunteered to talk to you—find out what the fuck crawled up your ass and died. And I did.” 

 

Brayden smirks, because he's a little shit and is way too confident of Claude's affection for him. “You're just hard-up.” 

 

Sometimes, Claude thinks he could be capable of murder. However, the Flyers need all the help they can get if they're going to make it to the playoffs this year. Brayden is safe. It would be too much effort anyway. 

 

He stews in his annoyance and confusion instead, letting their conversation drift to less personal matters.  _ What bothers you the most _ echoes on his head on a loop.

 

* * *

 

“You can't bring hook-ups back to the house.” Danny had Claude cornered against his SUV. His entire body was a line of tension and his gaze harsh as he stared Claude down.

 

“Okay...I don't plan to?” Claude very rarely felt intimidated—even by werewolves who were about three times stronger than they looked—but he felt his heartbeat rise at the silent threat. He watched Danny breathe in slowly, his fingers twitch. 

 

Claude forced himself to relax. Danny obviously felt like he needed to expand the rules for living at his house, and Claude couldn't really blame him. With the boys there half the time and with the awkwardness that hung in the air when Sylvie came inside to gather or drop off the kids, Claude had assumed it would be better to keep his hook-ups  away from the house.

 

Some of the other guys had given him a little hell about living at Danny's, especially once they found out about Claude's 'famous grilled cheese sandwiches.’ He didn't care nearly as much as he pretended to. Claude might have gotten picked on for having no game, but he was willing to put up with the good-natured chirping if it meant keeping Danny happy and the kids around. 

 

“Good.” It was obvious Danny was feeling silly for his posturing, and it took Claude a second to realize he'd been expecting a fight about it. Danny cracked his neck. “Good. I don't bring anyone home, Claude. My boys don't need the confusion.” 

 

“I know, Danny.” He clapped a hand on the shoulder and gives him a friendly squeeze. “I wouldn't do that.” 

 

Danny's answering smile was relieved and something else Claude couldn't decipher.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s spoken with Danny twice since the phone call in the parking lot after Simmer confirmed the whole team assumes they are an item. Both times, Claude had expected Danny to ask him about it, to ask if he'd decided what he was upset about. There was nothing though, just the calm, easy sound of Danny's voice washing over him as they talked like normal. 

 

Tonight, he can't fall asleep because he's thinking about Danny's voice and  _ what bothers you the most _ . 

 

He's been busy with indignation over his teammates assuming something about him, using his scent to claim evidence of some relationship that doesn't even exist. Claude isn't a werewolf and he can't differentiate scents by emotion or intent; he can't defend himself from werewolves who try to use something he can't sense himself. Claude hates being defenseless. 

 

Tossing onto his side, Claude punches his pillow to try and tries to get comfortable. The clock on his bedside table mocks him. How can he convince everyone that there isn't anything going on?

 

_ Werewolves _ , Claude groans.

 

Then he is struck by a thought. 

 

“Danny,” Claude knows he sounds desperate when the call connects. “Danny, what do I smell like?” 

 

Danny answers, sounding confused, “why?” 

 

Claude sits up in bed. “It's my scent. They think we're together because I smell like it.” He licks his lips. It's embarrassing how long it's taken him to realize this, how it all comes down to the signals his body is giving out subconsciously.  “I smell like you, don't I?” 

 

There's a pause before Danny replies carefully. “I haven't seen you in months. I don't know how you smell.” The last bit comes out a little strained. It feels like a deflection, too.

 

All it does is reinforce exactly what Claude is beginning to understand. “How long? How long have I smelled like this...yours?” Quietly, more to himself than Danny, he wonders, “how did this happen?” 

 

Danny dodges the question again. “Claude, it doesn't matter. Scents aren't always indicative of intent.” 

 

He feels betrayed by himself and everyone else. How can his body know something before his brain does? How is that fair or right? Why is everyone around him aware of it when he isn't? 

 

“Why didn't you tell me.” Claude accuses. 

 

“Claude…” Danny sighs heavily. “I told you, scent isn't everything. It's none of my business until you decide.”

 

The weight of Danny's words mute Claude. It's considerate and stupidly despondent somehow. Danny must interpret Claude's silence because he speaks again. 

 

“It's late over there. I'm—you need time to really think about what you feel and...want. I'm hanging up now.”

 

Scrambling to keep Danny on the line so they can figure this out together, Claude tries, “but—”

 

“No. Call me when you have decided on your own. I know what you're probably thinking right now. I know you. But I need you to  _ think  _ about this. Good night, Claude.”

 

Danny hangs up before Claude can say anything else. 

 

“Fuck.”

 

* * *

 

 

Caelan’s car was in the driveway when Claude came home from practice, and the sight made Claude smile to himself. Inside, he found Caelan shooting pool by himself. The three sank into a corner pocket after knocking two balls apart. 

 

“'Sup?” He asked casually, comfortable in Claude's house. 

 

Claude spotted the half empty beer on the side table and swipes it. He took a long swig of it. Caelan’s face colored in embarrassment, but he rolled his eyes without complaint. 

 

Finishing the beer, Claude mimicked him. “'Sup?” Sweat was drying along Claude's hairline despite the shower he had after practice and he wanted a nap. 

 

Caelan was quiet, making a face to himself. He tapped the butt of his stick on the ground between his feet while Claude waited him out. 

 

“I got dumped.” Claude could tell Caelan felt dumb, maybe vulnerable. He wouldn't look at Claude and he was worrying his bottom lip. 

 

He wished Danny was here. Caelan probably wished Danny was here.

 

The words hung in the air for a few beats before Claude pushed off the wall and told Caelan to follow him into the kitchen. Along the way, he wrapped his arm around Caelan's shoulders. They were the same height now and it was still difficult to get used to sometimes. 

 

Caelan leaned into him, knocking their temples together. Claude recognized the gesture and rubbed his head against Caelan's. The kid just got dumped by his first serious girlfriend. Even if he didn't really understand all the nuances of werewolf behavior, he was willing to do this small thing if it made Caelan feel a little bit better. Claude pressed a kiss to Caelan's temple like he used to when he was younger and asked for Claude when he was sick. 

 

He pulled two beers out of the refrigerator when they made it into the kitchen. “Don't tell your parents.” Claude popped the lids off the bottles and handed one to Caelan. 

 

“It doesn't work on me, anyway.” He sounded annoyed. 

 

Claude grinned. “I know. Still illegal though.” He took a sip of his beer and asked, “why did you have one in the game room, then?”  

 

Caelan shrugged. “I don't know. I'm dumb?” He laughed. 

 

“Free pass today. This once.” Claude gave Caelan an over the top stern look. He received the intended response: Caelan smiling. 

 

Talking about feelings wasn't really Claude's favorite thing. Danny, and presumably Sylvie, handled that for the boys. But Claude still found himself receiving confessions from time to time. He was such an odd piece to the Briere family. Not a parent and definitely not a brother, but some extension who the boys confided in and sought out. 

 

Honestly, Claude cherished it. Even when he didn't know what to do, how to really help. 

 

Claude never got his nap that day. He did end up with a seventeen year-old crashing on his couch after consuming a whole pizza by himself and stumbling over an explanation of the breakup. Having tucked a blanket over Caelan, Claude snapped a picture and sent it to Danny. 

 

_ Thanks for taking care of him _ had been the reply.

 

* * *

 

 

Claude takes two days to figure things out. The Flyers are playing the Avalanche next week, so he waits. Waiting drives him crazy; Claude is the kind of guy who makes up his mind and acts on it immediately. He probably looks at Danny's contact information twenty times a day. He doesn't call though. He doesn't text. 

 

Danny doesn't contact him either, obviously giving Claude space to decide on his own. It's the right thing to do, no matter how impatient Claude is. He forces himself to wait until he can see Danny in person. 

 

Danny asked him to think about it first. 

 

* * *

 

 

Danny comes out of the visitor's locker room and that is like a punch to the guy, but it's immediately replaced with the elation and breathlessness of seeing Danny again. 

 

The guys had chirped him while they changed, asked Claude if he had a hot date tonight. Instead of telling them to fuck off, he hadn't been able to hide the grin that kept appearing. Brayden had waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Claude threw his dirty sock at him, laughing. 

 

Now, the nerves show up full force. Off the ice, when he's not the opponent, Danny is bigger and somehow more  _ real _ . He's beautiful. 

 

“Hi.” He stops in front of Danny. He's grinning and he doesn't stop. 

 

Danny pulls him into their usual hug after a moment too long. His arms strong and familiar around Claude. “Hey.” 

 

Claude sinks into the embrace. He doesn't give a shit if any of the guys see them. They already think he and Danny are together. He let's the hug linger. 

 

Danny takes a deep breath against him, shuddering a little. Quietly, he says, “you still smell like me.” It's a confession and, maybe, a question.

 

“Good.” Decisive, Claude turns his head into the crook of Danny's neck and nuzzles him. He doesn't know how scent works, but he concentrates on pouring as much certainty and longing as he's ever felt for Danny into his smell. 

They'll have to actually talk about this in a bit, but for now, Claude is happy to rely on his body's apparent knack for giving his emotions away.

 

He can feel the curve of Danny's cheek, where he's smiling, when Danny asks, “yeah?” 

 

“Yeah.” Claude pulls back to meet Danny's gaze. 

 

His eyes are brown, tinged golden. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> The title was inspired by lyrics from Cyndi Lauper's "Time After Time."
> 
> Sometimes, it takes us a little while to unpack our suitcases and see what we've brought with us all along.


End file.
